Change

Change—not as in pocket change, but as in life change.

My dear friend Enid and I talked about life change.

We’ve heard it before: Change is inevitable.

But what does it mean when unexpected change happens to you—to Enid—to me?

Spoiler Alert:  I’m going to wane somewhat esoteric and even ramble. But if you’re interested please stay with me.

Some life changes we can control. Others we cannot. And sometimes it’s the “cannot” ones that turn our worlds upside down—the ones that bring heartache, confusion, and even anger.

Years ago, an uncontrollable, unbelievable life change happened to my family. It was a tragedy. I spent months trying to understand. Why us? There was no explanation.  I grieved. Felt empty—hopeless. Frankly, I was pissed off.

Then one afternoon, as I was scanning my bookshelf for a “good read,” one of my favorite Buddhist books by Jack Kornfield practically jumped off the shelf and landed in my hands.

Okay. Now what?

I flipped through its pages. Aimlessly. Quickly. Nothing grabbed my attention.

Then, and this is the unvarnished truth, just as I was ready to shelf the book, I paused. The book, seemingly by itself, opened to a page with a bold sidebar: Pain in life is inevitable; suffering is optional.

That hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I realized I chose to suffer—refused to let go of what happened and move on. I viewed the tragedy as an unfair punishment, rather than accept it as an impermanent event.

Buddhism teaches that tragic life changes are an inescapable part of existence. Rather than view them as an unfair punishment, accept the impermanence and distinguish between the raw physical pain of the event and the mental suffering caused by fighting reality—pain is the first dart that hits you, but wishing things were different is the second, and even more damaging, dart you throw at yourself.

I was throwing darts—lots of darts.

It took some doing, but I did let go. I did stop suffering.

How? I accepted what was real, instead of demanding life to undo the impossible.

PS: If you’re like Paul Harvey wanting to know “the rest of the story,” that tragedy turned into one of the greatest joys in my life.